Home for Christmas
by Apocalyptical Angel
Summary: The turkey's in danger of burning, the decorations are held by glitter glue and the fairylights are on the fritz. With Michael's flight landing in 2 hours, it didn't leave much time for the gang to create a perfect family Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

**Home for Christmas**

**Summary: **The turkey's in danger of burning, the decorations are held by glitter glue and the fairylights are on the fritz. With Michael's flight landing in 2 hours, it didn't leave much time for the gang to create a perfect family Christmas.

**Rating:** M

**Pairing: **Michael and Fiona (Burn Notice)

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, there is no ownership of Burn Notice attached to my name in any way, shape or form. I make no profit except reviews (which are absolutely worth their weight in gold).

* * *

Chapter One

"Fiona?" Madeline asked, peering tired eyes through the window in the door. "Oh no." The first thought was for the worst and she yanked open the door with no care for the ratty nightgown and curlers she wore. "What happen-"

"It's happening." Fiona simply said, moving into the house with Sam and Nate close behind her.

"Sorry for the wakeup call, Maddy." Sam apologised, ducking around her to place a box of what looked to be decorations on the table.

"What do you mean?" Madeline asked, now tugging the robe tighter and wishing she had the preservation to have thrown it out years ago. They just didn't make them as warm or soft as this anymore though.

"Michael phoned. He's on his way home." And from the tone of Fiona's voice, she wasn't happy about the short notice either.

"He's what?" Maddy turned quick. "Now?"

"Hi mom." Nate dropped a kiss to his mother's cheek, embracing the smell of cigarettes before following Sam and Fi into the sunroom. "You really weren't kidding were you?" Nate commented, seeing the bare walls and lack of colour.

"I told you. Christmas is postponed until we can have it as a family." Madeline's harsh tone had first spoken these words when Michael's CIA job had informed him he would most likely be in Siberia until January. His mother had simply insisted they were going to celebrate Christmas together as a family (both those of blood and heart) and not a single decoration would be hung until Michael was home, however late in the year it would be.

Which was all well and good in idea, but when you get a phone call from the man who was going to be surprised with a postponed Christmas saying he would be home in a few hours, it threw a spanner in the works.

"Well, it's on now." Fiona turned her head to the clock, 12:31am it read. "His flight will land in two hours, Nate will pick him up and we shall have Christmas tonight."

"But… the food… I haven't cooked anything." Madeline started to panic, they'd expected at least a few days' notice before Michael would be coming home, but that's the problem with surprises; sometimes you get surprised yourself.

"We got as much of it as we could in the back of the car." Nate explained. "I even found a roast." he beamed with pride. It truly was a success considering it was December 27th currently. The shops were almost all cleared out, and considering they were limited due to the hour as well, it was madness.

"But… the decorations."

"We'll make do with what we have, or make our own. You have supplies right?" Fiona asked, already on her way to the closet that held memories of festivities past.

"Well, the lights are busted." Maddy complained as Fiona pulled out the first box with fairy lights in.

Fiona simply turned her head to the boys.

"Sam?"

"On it." he replied, catching the lights she haphazardly threw to him and hunting the screwdriver from under the sink.

"Oh god. The tree!" Maddy flustered but it was quickly solved again.

"Jesse's bringing one now." Fiona stood, the three boxes at her feet, more to come from the loft. "Everything will work out." The promise rang true in all ears; there was little the team couldn't accomplish. Whilst this was far from tactical invasion or perimeter defences, Christmas would be taken just as easily into their encompassing strides.

Maddy sat herself in the nearest chair, her nerves demanding a cigarette. She reached onto the side table only to catch the sight of the old robe again.

"Suppose I should get dressed." Maddy spoke to herself, continuing to pocket the cigarettes. "And for god sake, someone get some eggnog made." she insisted, stepping from the sofa and missing the grin that passed between the visitors. "And don't you dare go easy on the bourbon."

"Wouldn't dare." Sam answered, already in the kitchen and taking the duty of alcohol upon himself.

30 minutes later, Jesse was battling a tree for a position perpendicular to the ground (which seemed near impossible). Sam was muttering about fairy lights being more complicated than the wires of homemade detonators. Nate and Maddy were arguing over the treatment of the food and oven space. And Fiona was sitting crosslegged on the floor, between strips of wrapping paper she was turning into a paper chain and glitter glue she was using to hold her designs together.

"This isn't working god damn it." Jesse grunted to himself, currently securing climbing ropes to the trunk and then around Maddy's furniture for stability.

"It worked last year and it will work this year. It's not _it's_ fault if you can't work it right." Maddy shot back at him, pausing from the cranberry argument with Nate.

"This is a death contraption." Jesse complained, kicking the tree stand with his boot. "I've seen easier mechanisms inside high tech security panels."

"You wanna talk about complex?" Sam interrupted. "How about you try working with the fairy shockers over here. I'm not sure if I've stopped being electrocuted by these damn nymphs of if I've just become immune."

"You better be immune to more than just shocks if you want to live through this dinner." Nate slid in, turning the argument back to the turkey Maddy was trying to cook.

"Excuse me." She snatched her lighter from the side board again. "I've been feeding my family for years and none of you have curled over and died from my cooking."

"No… but we've wanted to." Nate spat back, snatching the baster from his mother. "And stop dropping ash in the veg ma!"

Fiona sat quiet, her mind on the task, her ears tuned to the Christmas songs in the background rather than the family drama.

It was just like being back at home and it filled her with memories of her childhood. Which of course led back to Claire… She cut off her train of thought before the happy occasion would turn sour.

She'd rang home on Christmas, spoken to all her brothers and each had had something to complain about. Mostly about the other brothers. She grinned to herself, ignoring the pink glitter that transferred from the glue to her arm as she laid down more of the paper chain she was making.

Madeline had passed her the artefacts from Christmases way back in the past, and then some extra arts and crafts supplies she had stored away.

"Woah… you're not going to cook them together are you?" Fiona looked up at Jesse's newest grumble, his eyes flying across the room to the sprouts and carrots Madeline had thrown together.

"We need the room." She simply blinked at him, lost for an action, the cigarette sitting limp at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah, but… I mean, you don't want the two flavours to combine. I mean sprouts and carrots, and is that parsnip?"

"What Jesse?!" Madeline snapped, slamming the pan down on the counter. "Is there some vital law against parsnip and carrot integration now?"

"No, no. I didn't mean it like that, I-"

"You think you can do it better, then you come and do it. You're only making a damn mess brutalising a perfectly good tree anyway." Before Jesse could compose the look of fear Madeline had struck into him, she was marching over, taking the tree from him and pointing in the direction of the kitchen, the smoking cig between her two forefingers. He went without much complaint, whether through fear or preference was undecided.

Fiona went back to the gluing, but her silence had made her a target for Sam's anger.

"Jesus Fi. The glue goes on the decorations, not you." he snapped, the task under his hands stressing him.

"And you could do it better?" she asked, her calm façade strange to those who knew her. Sam blinked at the lack of expected fire and the fight that was sure to burn off his hate of the fairy lights, but she sat and questioned him without snark or snide remark.

"Well… yeah." he said, for lack of other answer.

"Well, I suppose I do have a gentler hand with fiddly wiring."

"Oh, I get it, you just want to show me up, prove you can do this better than I can." Sam slid the lights closer to him across the table. "Don't think I do-"

"For god's sake Sam, give Fiona the damn lights and stick the decorations to the god damn wall!" Madeline ordered and like chastised schoolchildren their places changed again.

The team had been up against the scum of the earth armed to the teeth and enraged past reason, but nothing gave them more fear than Madeline Western with voice raised and smoke curling.

Fiona sat herself with her eggnog at the table, her fingers easily taking the lights from the plastic holders and testing the connections.

There was one reason and one reason alone she was as laid back as she was.

Some would say she was tired; it was late. Late enough that with each raised voice and slammed pan they were waiting for a neighbour to complain or cop to knock.

Some would say she was used to experiencing their anger without Michael as a mediator and had simply adjusted.

The truth was simple.

Michael was coming home tonight.

1 hour and 50 minutes (at an estimate) before he walked through that front door, passed the make-shift orange and cinnamon stick wreath she'd artfully created and would finally be back in her arms.

He'd been gone since late November and a month was a hell of a long time to go without him. One email, a few texts, the odd phone call but not a single satisfactory moment had come her way since he left.

Each time she'd try to call, he'd have had to ditch the phone and she'd get nothing but endless rings or voicemail.

She'd been in bed when he'd called tonight.

"_This better be god damn important." she grumbled sleepily into the phone as she accepted the unknown number. Her eyes found the TV re-runs still playing on the TV; she must have fallen asleep watching them again._

"_Fi." All it took was a word._

_Just one word and she was wide awake, turning off the TV and pushing up from her duvet._

"_Michael."_

"_Hey." She could almost hear his smile. "I didn't wake you did I?"_

"_No. No." she lied. "I was wide awake. There was a Buffy marathon, and you know how much I love some vampire slaying before bed."_

"_Sorry I woke you." he chuckled. "I just wanted to let you know, I'm coming home."_

"_You're coming home?" she scrubbed a hand down her face, her sleep addled mind still trying to find focus in the darkness. "When?"_

"_A few hours. There's a flight re-routed to pick me up soon."_

"_The job? It's done?" she asked. "I thought they said January."_

"_Yeah." He sighed. "Turned out we didn't need that long."_

"_So… tonight?" Fiona stretched over the bed to turn the alarm clock towards her. "You'll be back tonight?!"_

_He chuckled again at her sudden giddiness._

"_Yeah Fi. They're happy enough to leave the debriefing until the day after." he stated, though both knew the CIA were rarely 'happy enough' about anything to grant any leniency on their demands._

"_Don't they reali-" but her yawn cut off her words and she smothered it beneath her hand._

"_Go back to sleep Fi. I'll be there soon."_

"_Michael." she chastised softly. "You do realise I'm in bed."_

"_Generally where people sleep." he commended cleverly._

"_No, I mean… I'm in bed." And this time, the words were laced with insinuation and dripping in the undercurrent of sex._

"_Fi. I'm waiting with the team."_

"_I'm sure they don't mind. They know it's been a month or so." she teased playfully. "I'm wearing that little green babydoll you like." _

"_Fi." he groaned._

"_But, I can always take it off." she taunted, her voice as seductive as her words._

"_Fi."_

"_And, I have all these ideas of what I want to do when I see you, and I don't think I can wait that long." She pouted and she knew he would be seeing the image in his mind's eye._

"_You can't wait a few hours?"_

"_Uh-uh." She dropped a breath, sliding a moan in for his benefit. _

"_Fi." A warning._

"_Oh Michael." she moaned overly erotic._

"_Fiona." he snipped, trying to contain the energy she drove into him with the sounds he'd missed most. _

"_Michael, shall I tell you what I'm doing?" her voice played with him though her hands had yet to wander from the pillow she'd slept on and her grip on the phone. Her teddybear pyjamas were wrapping her in comfort and the green babydoll was deep in the bottom of her wardrobe. But, where was the sexuality in high thread cotton?_

"_How about instead, I'll tell you what I'm doing; I'm hanging up the phone." He chuckled. "I'll see you soon Fi." _

_There was a pause, a bated breath where both hung on. It whispered 'I miss you' but never quite left lips._

"_Soon." she replied. "Travel safe." And the call ended._

_Fiona dropped back to the bedding. She need to get up, and dressed… in something other than pyjamas. She needed to shave her legs._

_Oh god, she needed to call Maddy and arrange Christmas._

* * *

Reviews are always welcome. Will post the next chapter in a week (ish).  
Much love, thanks for reading/clicking and scrolling :D  
Xx


	2. Chapter 2

You guys, your reviews are so sweet. I'm so happy you like it. The smile on my face when my phone tells me I have a fanfiction review is so big, if i'm around people, they always ask what i'm reading that makes me smile like that. Haha.

This chapter has a little more family than romance, but I just love the characters created in Burn Notice and I think a big family christmas like this would just have to be recorded. Hope you enjoy. Xx

* * *

Chapter Two

"I still don't get why this had to be the second he came home?" Nate complained again, closing the oven on the roast potatoes. "I mean, surely the man wants to relax, sleep for a night or two and then have a pretend Christmas."

"And I want it to be a surprise." Madeline argued, the tree now successfully wedged at a perfect upright, not a degree out of place nor chance of it falling. Jesse was giving it the stink eye, claiming it played favourites. "It's been years since we've had a good family Christmas, I have new family now, and a good, happy one. And… Michael deserves one." She turned back to the tree, accepting Sam's homemade tinsel to cover the naked greenery.

"Yeah, but the second he comes home? We could have surprised him later." Nate continued.

"Uh-huh, and you're going to be the one to successfully surprise Michael Western are you?" Jesse asked with a smirk. "The man can smell a double cross from miles away. A little surprise party isn't going to stay a surprise long."

"So why does it have to be a surprise?! It's not like he's never had Christmas before."

"Because I said so!" Maddy answered sharp and short shutting down all follow up questions from her youngest son.

A silence fell, leaving the jingle bell rock to play softly on the audio system.

Fiona tightened the screws over the plug and sat back to look at the lights; they were all lined up from one side of the table to the other, looping over the cables several times with length. A few of the bulbs had to be replaced, most of the wire had been fried or damaged in storage which meant a little make-shift wiring was needed, but otherwise it would hold.

She leant back to the socket behind her chair and plugged it in. With a simple flick, the table was alight with colour.  
"Well, well, well. Would you look at that?" Jesse commented, the mince pie mixture (a secret recipe he refused to share) paused on mid-scoop to pre-made cases. "Fi's got a gentler touch than old Sammy bear." he laughed.

"Hey." Sam protested, but accepted it with a smile, handing Maddy some more tinsel from cut up wrapping paper and string. "I'm a lover, and those little fairies were fighters."

"Well, I can't say it was quite as difficult as other things I may have done in my time, but…" she paused, unbelieving she was saying this. But hey, it was Christmas: if there ever was a time to be nice to Sam, now was it. "Sam was right." Fiona awaited for the world to implode but it kept turning.

"I was _what_?" Sam said, unbelieving of the words from the hell cat.

"Sam was right." she spoke it again and still nothing bad happened. She smiled to herself. "They were definitely not the usual breed of fairy lights."

"I… was right…" Sam muttered to himself enthusiastically.

"Oh shush." Maddy teased, pressing her hands to his shoulders before he could ruin the sweet moment. "You've got a tree to decorate."

Somehow, since jobs had changed, so had the atmosphere. There was less yelling, far less screaming, and yet still the aura of a volatile family.

"So, Fi?" Jesse called as she hung the lights from the curtain rail, her bare feet stood on the chair he held in place. "What was your Christmas like as a child? Anything like this?"

"Not exactly, there were a lot more feet running around." She laughed. "More burning smells, and a lot of tape stuck in places you wouldn't imagine."

"Tape?" he asked, the room all listening to the sharing of stories.

"We had this rule." she started, "That we would each buy our siblings a present, no matter what it was." One year, she'd bought all of them tampons, insisting it was a useful present as they must be girls because they spend so long in the bathroom. "Which meant a lot of small children fiddling with wrapping paper and tape, and trying to keep the gift a secret as well. So, we'd hide in the closets, wrapping up boxes of army figures, or under the table trying to fit slippers into a circular shape so nobody would guess what they were. And we'd get tape everywhere." She laughed at the memory of her older brother walking around with some stuck to the ass of his jeans all day after leaning on the kitchen table. "We'd be running around at easter holidays and still finding tape." She smiled down at Jesse. "What about you?"

"Oh, I remember the food." He grinned. "The baking, the meats, the way I'd eat far too much and then still insist upon a dessert." He laughed. "Once, I was sick all over my Uncle Bernie's new jacket. He chased me all around the yard and when he finally caught me, he grabbed me so tight I threw up on him again."

"What a charming story." Maddy deadpanned, rolling her eyes at the wall.

"What was it like here?" Jesse asked her. "I bet little Mike and Nate were a handful."

Fiona had heard little snippets about Michael's childhood, enough to know to stay away from it, Jesse however… he had not.

Nate pulled a fake smile, but kept quiet.

After a few second, Madeline filled the awkward silence.

"It was loud." Sam passed her the angel tree topper but she was reaching for her cigs, stepping down from the mini ladder and back to the safety of her lighter. "Never a dull moment." She tried to keep it light, but there wasn't much she could say positive.

"One Christmas." Nate began, taking over for his mother's stress but the sign had already been read loud and clear by all. "Dad had fallen asleep on the sofa, and mom took us to the park." Madeline sighed her relief. There were a few Christmases' she never wanted to see again, but this one she would. "She'd bought Mike a new bike, and I got a scooter." Madeline took her cigarette to a chair, her back to Nate so he couldn't see her grimace.

Michael had stolen the scooter for Nate. And the bike… it wasn't exactly from a legal store. "And we couldn't ride them in the house and we were so desperate to try them out we went all the way to the park. I mean, it was a good mile or so." Nate grinned. "And the park was empty. All the kids were at home, and we had it all to ourselves. We had a blast."

The boys had been so happy. It had taken her almost a full tube of foundation to cover the beating their dad had given her for giving Michael that bike. The only reason she'd taken them out was because she knew there would hardly be anyone out to see her. He was passed out drunk and she needed to get out of the house. But, seeing the boys laugh and smile as they flew around the empty park on the wheels… it was a wonderful day.

Of course, when they'd got home, Frank had woke up and was throwing up his insides into the toilet bowl. The boys each got their share of his verbal anger and when she told them to go back to the park and ride some more, she'd got what was left.

"I remember two Christmases ago." Sam took over unwilling to let the echo of the past linger and poison the good feeling. "I was spending it on a private beach with my lady at the time."

"Uh-huh." Madeline rolled her eyes, but passed him another beer as he found his current bottomed out.

"She'd brought this home-made picnic basket for us, filled with little treats. She was an angel in the kitchen." Sam tipped his head back and released a groan at the mere memory of her food. "She'd been in there all morning, hadn't let me in, the little minx." Fiona stifled a giggle and looped the lights around the decorations on the wall. "But the smells… oh my lord." Sam grinned wide. "She'd made these little pastries, or tarts or something… I don't know, but they tasted fantastic, they were all festively done, with ginger and cinnamon. There wasn't a single one left by the end of the night, and she'd made triple measurements as well." Sam sipped at his fresh beer with a proud grin. "And don't even get me started on her turkey sandwiches." Sam moaned and laugher rang around the abode.

"What happened with her?" Nate asked.

"Her?" Sam paused to think for a second or two. "Oh, yeah." he chuckled. "Her husband came back from his business trip and… caught us in the act." he laughed. "Should have seen his face, it was hilarious."

"Sam!" Fiona scolded. "She was married?"

"She was lonely." he corrected quickly. "And, hey… who was I to blame her to want a little taste of Sammy to ease her pain?" he smiled widely, the memory of their first meeting returning with sweetness.

"How's that cooking coming along boys?" Madeline asked quickly, changing the topic of conversation and motioning Sam back to work with the decorations on the tree, hopefully, _before_ the songbirds in his head could explode.

"Ummm, well… the turkey's cooking nicely." Nate said proudly, dropping to look through the window of the oven. "The veg is done, just needs heating when _Masterchef_ here finishes his creations, bu-"

"Hey." Jesse defended. "You won't be complaining when you taste these babies." He helped Fiona down from the chair as she finished with the lights and turned back to his baking. "Besides, what's Christmas without hot dessert?"

"Question." Fiona suddenly spoke, her eyes narrowed as she scouted around the kitchen disaster zone. "Yogurt?"

There was a pause in the air where she turned to judgemental eyes.

"Fiona dear. It's Christmas." Madeline chastised. "You can have yogurt any day of the year."

"Yeah Fi, com'on. Where's your festive taste buds gone?" Sam questioned with a laugh.

"Oh no, mine are right there in the mince pies." she amended. "I'm just wondering about Michael…"

The silence came back.

She was right.

They were so busy arguing over what each of them wanted best, not one of them had considered the reason for the delayed Christmas.

"He's not actually going to want yogurt on Christmas… right?" Jesse asked.

"He did last year." Fiona answered with a shrug. "I mean, yes, we were hiding out in a hut in Mexico… but we broke into a shopping centre and the first place he headed was… for yogurt."

"Do we need to stage an intervention?" Sam asked, paper chain of snowflakes falling over his shoulder as he stopped his hanging. "I mean, this is the point we need to accept there may be an addiction going on… right?"

"Will you be serious?" Maddy scolded, her finished cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray. "He's fine. And we're not serving damn yogurt!"

"I could make a tart. Cinnamon yogurt tart… kind of." Jesse suggested.

"We're not having yogurt!" Madeline argued unheard.

"Blueberry instead perhaps?" Fiona battled back.

"It could work. It's not exactly festive, but… I can see what I can do." Jesse began, thinking on his feet. "It wouldn't need the oven if we can get a pastry case pre-made."

"I have one at the house." Fiona offered. "I need to pick up the presents anyway." In her haste to start the preparations, she'd forgotten. "And… I should probably try and wash some of the glue out of my hair." There was a strand on her left shoulder that was mostly glitter by now and kept sticking to her top.

"Perfect!" Jesse answered. "I can finish with the lights while you go."

"We are not having yogurt at Christmas." Madeline repeated softly, stepping in front of Fiona.

"It's a tart Maddy." Fiona replied. "And Michael will love it." With a quick step, she pressed a kiss to Madeline's cheek and told the boys she'd be back soon.

* * *

Fiona stood in her empty home, the presents on the sofa looking at her with a sparkling, red bow smile. She'd washed the ends of her hair in the sink and twisted the locks into a fancy updo. She'd replaced the glue on her skin with moisturiser and perfume. The pastry case and yogurt cartons atop the counter waiting for her to deliver them to the chef that would work his magic.

Fiona sighed, the red dress falling over her legs as she sat on the sofa.

Weeks.

It had been weeks since she last saw Michael.

Since she last touched his warmth.

Last kissed his lips.

Last felt his love.

Tears threatened her eyes.

It had been too long.

She'd gone to bed at nights and wished the next night would be a different scenario. But weeks had gone past where she'd gone to bed all alone, where she'd been cold without anyone for comfort. Nights were the worst. She'd lay awake and be able to see the last time she'd been with Michael.

When he'd told her he was going for the mission.

He'd said it would be a week max, and she'd eagerly told him to take it, to get back to his job, his life, his passion. She'd slipped a hunting knife in his bag with a lipstick kiss on the blade. She'd told him when he returned she'd greet him naked and waiting.

And a week later, there was no flight back, there was no long car ride. There wasn't even a cargo ship with his name on.

And worse, there wasn't a phone call.

That night had been the worst of the worst, she'd been unable to sleep, tears streaming down her cheeks as she could only imagine he was somewhere in danger, bullets threatening his life… or perhaps having already taken it.

She hadn't slept by the time the sunrose. But with it, came a text, just a simple text.

'_Job's gone south. Won't be back until January.'_

It had taken a week of anger, tears and self-loathing before she'd finally heard his voice on the phone and he'd apologised for the worry he caused.

And so she spent the days keeping busy with Sam and Jesse, and spent the nights imagining Michael was by her side, that they could touch each other… that he was thinking of her and wishing he was with her.

But ultimately, she was still alone.

Fiona ran her hands to smooth over the material of the dress.

Michael was coming home tonight.

Tonight.

But the thought only stung at her eyes, taunting her with tears.

Michael.

She'd missed him too much to imagine a re-union with dry eyes.

When he stepped from that plane, she didn't think she'd even be able to take a step towards him. Was it her fault if he was injured? She'd encouraged him into the job. She'd seen how he itched for some action, she'd seen how much he missed his old life. She'd seen the pain all the 'local' jobs the CIA provided had given him. She wouldn't be responsible for clipping his wings.

But now, all she wanted was to padlock the doors shut and keep him by her side.

One week turning into several was something that happened all too often on field operations, but she wasn't there hand in hand with him, she wasn't part of his eyes and ears. She couldn't watch his back and it scared her more than she dared to speak.

Fiona laid her hand on her flat stomach.

There was a reason Fiona didn't crave the fields of battle anymore. She liked her home turf… and she liked Michael.

Well, she loved Michael.

And after her hometown friend had birthed two beautiful twins she'd been possessed by baby fever. At first she prayed it would go away, but the more time she spent with Michael, the more she craved it.

She'd even been laid in bed with him and watched his eyes go wide as saucers as she hinted at the subject. It was the answer she needed and it was the hint he had picked up on that had joined all of the dots. Fiona wanted children.

Both knew the other's stance without it being said, so Fiona pushed back the baby fever and went about nesting in her home, putting down roots and making friends in Miami. Michael… well, he pushed himself into his work.

Fiona sighed.

The baby craving had passed, but the thought remained. It lingered in the back of her mind. It tickled her brain when she thought of ordering alcohol or shellfish. It ticked softly when she was straddling Michael, the thought that a simple condom was all that stopped her from parenthood.

But she loved Michael more than she needed a child and she knew the life was no place for a child while pillows concealed handguns and lists of enemies stretched around the world and back.

Fiona shook herself back to the present.

She consciously took her hand from her flat stomach and went to the fridge for the six pack of beer Sam would no doubt need soon. But one, one was for her.

She loaded up the car with the bottle in her hand and finished it on the drive back to Madeline's.

1 hour left and 1 blueberry yogurt tart on its way.

* * *

Just to clarify, this fic will be a short little xmas snippet. Probably no longer than six chapters.

As usual, feel free to review/message/comment/criticise/compliment/cheer and any other actions you fancy.  
(Next chapter shall be up soon.)

Xx


	3. Chapter 3

Hi all, I hope you had a lovely Christmas/holiday/celebration :D

Reviewers and readers... I love you. So much. Almost as much as Michael loves Yogurt (and Fi) combined.

Hope you enjoy Michael's homecoming :)  
Xx

* * *

Chapter Three

"Hey bro!" Nate waved at his brother as he leaned against the car outside hanger 5 at Miami airport.

"What happened?" was Michael's first question, scanning the charger for blood, danger or a broken girlfriend.

"Hi Nate, it's been so long. I missed you too." Nate answered for his brother, even mimicking his voice, as they did when children.

"Hi Nate." Michael echoed without feeling. "What happened?"

"Why do you always assume the worst?"

"Because you're the one picking me up from the airport." He scanned around again. "How did you even know which hanger the plane would be coming in to?"

"Oh, Sam told me."

"Sam?" Michael repeated, the bag slid onto the backseat of the charger through the open window while he grilled his brother. "Great, and where is Sam?"

"What's with all the questions bro? Com'on, aren't you happy for a ride home, cabs are damn expensive you know and I'm saving you a lot of trouble trying to find one at this hour."

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose before trying again.

"Thanks Nate." he forced the words out. "I really appreciate the lift." He took a breath, then turned on interrogation mode again, his eyes on his brothers for a straight answer. "Where's Sam?"

"He's with Jesse and Fi."

"Okay, now where are Jesse and Fi?" he probed, then held up a hand to pause his brothers offended features from spilling the hurt. "And while I appreciate the lift, I'm simply wondering why _you_ are the one with the charger rather than, ummm, say Fi, who I left it with."

Nate began, then stopped himself, shuffling in his clean shirt.

"Just get in the damn car." He grumbled and walked around to the driver's side.

"It's still my car. I can drive." Michael argued, stepping in front of his brother.

"You don't know where we're going." Nate corrected.

"I would do, if you told me." Michael protested. He was tired, the mission had pissed him off and he just wanted to see Fi.

"Just get in the car and be quiet."

"Nate. I swear to God," Michael pinned his brother to the car, and arm across his neck in a friendly-brotherly fight kind of way. "If you don't tell me what the hell you are doing here, I will- argh." Nate had struggled back, catching Michael in the ribs and instantly causing him to recoil.

"Woah, bro, you okay?"

"Fine." Michael gritted out. "Just a few bruised ribs." he grunted.

"Well, just saying, if you would have just got in the car, they wouldn't be hurting that bad right now." Nate said smartly, unable to hide the smile.

Michael sensed a losing battle, especially when his brother would refuse to fight fair. He grudgingly went around to the passenger side to get in the car. "So, how'd you break the ribs?"

"They're not broken." Michael corrected stiffly. Maybe fractured, but not broken.

"Okay, so how did you get the big baby injury to your ribs?" Michaels answer was a hard stare to his brother. "Alright, alright." Nate laughed. "But, you do realise Fi is going to be mad."

"Yeah, I know." Michael said quietly. The ribs weren't even the worst of it. Shrapnel had sliced his right bicep and left its mark deep. His legs weren't exactly in perfect working order, but he was determined to cover the limp his injuries wanted to demand. At least most of the bruising had faded to yellow by now. Well, except the ribs… and the ones to his legs.

Okay, so he had his face, there was only a cut to his cheek that spoke anything of a fight, and Nate had been seen with much worse without their mother raising an eyebrow.

"So, how was the trip?" Nate tried again, aiming for casual conversation. Michael's eyes were on the road, trying to fathom the end location of the mystery trip. He hoped and prayed it was his loft… or, even better; Fi's place.

"Cold." Michael answered after a breath. "Where are we going?"

"Mom got a new hairdresser you know."

"That's nice. Where are we going?" he repeated.

"You're not wearing anything blood stained are you?" Nate suddenly asked at a stop light, his eyes roaming Michael's cleanest of suits.

"Why does mom want to see me now?" Michael asked with a groan, putting two and two together and reaching a quick four.

"I never said we were going to see mom." Nate tried to bluff, but his defensive walls were all but gone in front of a sibling with a lifetime of lying with you.

"You're checking my appearance for blood." Michael explained, his head lolled back against the headrest now he knew the destination. "Fi, Sam and Jesse wouldn't care. So, you're taking me to see Mom. Why?"

"Look, just play along alright." Nate warned him.

"I will do, if you tell me what I'm damn playing." Michael hissed, his aching eyes slaughtering his patience for his brothers word play.

"Hey, no need for that. I'm trying to be nice, alright."

Michael let the questioning slide, he'd figure it out soon. For all he knew, the washing machine had broken and his mother wanted him to fix it… his eyes hit the clock on the dashboard, at 2am? Unlikely, but not impossible. It must be important at the very least.

"Why isn't Fi here?" Michael asked after a break of silence.

"Ummm." Nate paused.

In truth, he had no idea. Fiona was the one meant to be picking him up for hell's sake. They'd agreed it would give them the alone time they needed to smooch and all that. But when the time came, Fiona was sat watching Jesse decorate the yogurt tart with fresh strawberries and declined the option.

"Nate?"

"I dunno bro. You do something to piss her off?" Nate didn't think she looked pissed… just… distracted. Either way, when she said she didn't feel up to driving to the airport, everyone was shocked… until she nominated Nate and said it would be better for the surprise. Hell, nobody bought it. But time was ticking and she wasn't moving so much as an inch.

"Probably." Michael accepted and closed his eyes, relaxing into the seat again.

"Mike?"

"Yeah." Michael grunted, eyes remaining closed.

"She agreed with Sam today." Nate told numbly, his focus set on the road.

To this, Michael did open his eyes.

"Fiona agreed with Sam?"

"Complimented him… kind of." Nate expanded.

There was a pause again, Nate was waiting for the impending explosion.

After a heartbeat, Michael was turning in the seat to scan the backseat, then root in the glove box before turning back to his brother.

"Where's your phone?"

"Woah, wait bro, you can't call her."

"Why not?" Michael felt a bolt of panic rush through him. "Where's Fi?"

"She's fine, she's fine. I swear she is." Nate rushed to defend himself.

Fiona sat at the kitchen counter, fidgeting with her fingers and hem of her dress.

Jesse and Sam were sat at the table comparing Christmas food eaten at previous years' festivities.

"He'll be fine." Madeline whispered to Fiona, standing behind the counter, mixing butter in with the roasted vegetables fresh from the oven.

"I know. I mean, it's Michael."

"Then perhaps tell that to your fingers." She nodded at Fiona's nervous hands. "They're seconds away from ripping that pretty dress like a bar napkin."

"Just… restless." Fiona said nervously.

"M'hmmm." Madeline nodded, but she knew it was far from the truth.

Fiona bolted up like a meercat when she heard the engine of the charger outside the house.

Madeline's hand came to her shoulder in comfort, the huge oven glove she still wore warm from the pans.

"Hey, looks like the boys are home." Jesse announced, grabbing two beers from the ice bucket and popping the caps.

"Alright, should we hide?" Sam asked off the cuff, an alcohol infused smile covering his lips.

"It's not a birthday party Sam." Madeline scolded with an eye roll. She moved swiftly past him to the front door.

Fiona stood, numbly stroking down the fabric once more, checking her hair in the reflection of the hall mirror.

Why did she feel like a teen on her first date?

Why were nerves gluing her feet to the floor?

Her ears were tuned to the two sets of feet coming up the path, the two distinct voices, one she hadn't heard for ages… it threatened to crack her heart in two.

Madeline opened the door with a smile, a summer dress accessorised with cardigan and chunky jewellery to become a beautiful Christmas outfit.

"Hey mom, what's wrong? Nate said you needed to see me? He said it was urgent." The voice was like a drug to Fiona, it ran straight through her system, it spiked all of her nerves and gave her goose bumps on her arms.

"Nate." Maddy tried to frown, but she was too happy to achieve it.

"What? I had to tell him something, he was seconds away from kicking me out of the damn car." Nate grumbled, but passed his mother into the house and accepted the first beer.

"Mom… what's going on?" Fiona held her breath, just a few more steps and he'd be right there. She could feel the prickling of tears at the back of her nose, the warmth waiting to flood her system, the collisions of eyes that would surely knock her flat and breathless.

"Happy Christmas Michael." Madeline pulled her son into a one armed embrace before wheeling him to face into the house.

Lights twinkled, smells crashed over him, faces surrounded him with a grin, but his eyes didn't stop until he saw Fi.

Like an angel in red she stood patiently by his mother's dinner table, her smile shining in her eyes. She seemed to twinkle, just for him.

"Ah Mike. Nice to have you back. You wouldn't believe the things we've done since you've been gone. But we missed you brother." Sam was the first to embrace him, the extra beers making him that extra bit friendly. The eggnog didn't hinder either.

"Nice to see you too Sam." Michael nodded back, not expecting the full hug the ex-seal gave him.

"He's had a few." Jesse explained from behind Sam, offering Michael a manlier pat on the shoulder as Sam held him in a bro-hug.

Fiona paused, unable to step towards the aura of love.

She just saw the gash on his cheek, the wince as Sam crushed his ribs, the pained gasp as Jesse touched his shoulder.

"Now's the time to move, sweetie." Madeline encouraged with a pat to her shoulder.

The movement pushed her into a step, and then another.

Soft and sweet, she continued, her eyes locked with Michael's. "Alright boys, I need the food on the table before it gets cold. Sam, you get the glasses, Jesse food. Nate, plates." With the general's orders, bodies moved. Sam released the pseudo brother and slipped past Fiona to get the wine glasses from the cabinet. Jesse returned to his studio of creation, ready to take the goodies from kitchen to table. Nate was already clattering plates as he set them on the Christmas table cloth Maddy had dragged out.

"Fi." It was just a word. Just a damn syllable, but it broke her.

Her feet carried her over, tears already in her eyes.

"You're hurt." she whispered.

"I'm fine." He smiled for her.

"You're hurt." she just repeated, but her feet wouldn't stop until she could feel his touch again. Her arms went around him and the damn of free will broke. Tears came pouring out as once more his strong arms wrapped around her.

"Fi. I'm okay. I promise." he soothed, carefully lifting her as he delicately limped into the sunroom away from his mother's prying eyes. "Fi?"

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He couldn't help but chuckle a little. "What for?"

"I'm not sad, I promise." she swore through the tears. "I just…" she pulled him tighter to her. "I missed you."

"You too, Fi." he replied tenderly, his arms tighter around her. He never found it hard to go on missions and leave people behind. But since he left all those days ago, he could only think of being back with her. In truth, it scared him how much he missed her.

He'd be on surveillance and he'd catch a whiff of perfume with the slightest similarity to hers and he'd be lost, spinning endless inside his mind at the thought of touching her again. He'd be staking out the target from a car, and his mind would conjure her like a demon. She'd be whispering her naughty ideas in his head. She'd be lounging out of his bed. She'd be cleaning her gun insisting she use him as target practise later. She'd be yelling at him for leaving his socks on in bed. "I missed you Fi."

"It wasn't a week." Was all she could manage to say. It was the only cohesive thought in her brain.

"The mission wa-"

"I know." She cut him off, her fingers clutching him tighter only to let go sharply. "They broke your ribs." Her red eyes finally found his, the tears sliding down softly.

"Bruised." he replied honestly, his hands cupping her face, his thumb sliding under her eyes to wipe away the tears he never wanted to see.

"Your leg?" she asked, reminding him she never missed a thing. "Your shoulder?" her hands fluttered over him in worry but unwilling to touch anything for fear of inducing more pain.

"A small price to get back to you sooner."

Though the words didn't intend any guilt, Fiona felt it creep into her. Was the reason he was hurt because he had rushed everything for her?

"Michael…"

"I'm fine." he swore. "I'm not sure my mother is." he chuckled, his eyes roaming the decorations. "Christmas was days ago."

"Yes, well." Madeline's voice came to their ears, clearly having had an ear to their conversation. "Some of us have Christmas as a _family,_ Michael. We can hardly do that while you're traipsing across Africa." She snapped.

Michael held back the eye roll. His mother would invent countries for him to be in when she wanted.

"Sorry to delay Christmas, Mom." Michael played along, his fingers weaving into Fiona's.

"Yes well. Lucky for you I'm a stickler for tradition." she announced.

"Since when?" Nate butted in from the kitchen. "You still insist upon chicken at thanksgiving."

"Well I'm starting now!" Maddy argued. "It's about time we had some damn traditions in this family!" She wheeled back to Michael and Fiona. "You two get cleaned up. We've got Christmas dinner in 5 minutes." Madeline tapped out another cigarette from the box in her hand and stepped outside for a last smoke while Jesse and Sam laid the food on the table.

* * *

Ahhhh, I just love Nate.

And surprisingly Maddy is quite easy to write for me... It seems I can channel my inner mother very well. Haha.

Feel free to review. Otherwise, pop back soon and the next chapter will be there :)  
Xx


	4. Chapter 4

Hehe, I see you are all eagerly awaiting the big reunion (we all know what lemon flavoured code this represents, right?).

Well, you're going to have to wait a few more days, haha! Last chapter will be up in a few days (it just needs proofing) and you can enjoy the 'reunion'.

Until then, hope you enjoy a little filler-ish chapter.

Xx

* * *

Chapter Four

"I'll drive." Michael said, pushing himself to reach the driver's door handle before her.

She met his eyes with sharp orbs but offered no argument, just breathed harshly and stomped her way to the other side.

Madeline stood in the door frame waving goodbye to them as Fiona yanked the seatbelt over her shoulder and into the clip. Maddy's smile was huge; she had had all her favourite people in one room happy and free. For the first course, there had been happiness all around.

And then, Fiona felt the downward slide on her good time.

It started with Sam's seventh toast, this one to Michael's future success in the field and around the globe. Then Jesse had asked if Michael would be home for long… and the bastard boyfriend had the gall to look guiltily at Fiona before replying that he was already booked on a flight after New Year's Day for another mission.

If her black mood wasn't enough, Sam had gone and drunkenly dumped gravy down her dress.

She'd seen Madeline's face, she'd seen the look of expectant terror; the dark sinking feeling Fiona'd felt threatening to loom over Madeline now. So Fiona laughed, she smiled, she brushed it off and cleaned up as best she could in the bathroom. She returned, filled up Sam's glass and pulled out the pretend twist on her lips to show Madeline she wouldn't be ruining this for her.

Now, Fiona sat silently in her car, staring at the brown stain on her red dress.

Ruined.

There was no dry cleaner in the world that would remove this from her garment.

She'd bought this especially for tonight.

She'd been shopping through several outlets looking for the perfect dress for Michael's return. This was it.

It was short but not too revealing.

It was flirty, but not too dangerous.

It was elegantly cut, but not impractical.

It pinched in her waist and maximised her curves, it was a complete _once in a lifetime_ score.

And it was ruined.

"I was going to tell you Fi. The agency needed it done swiftly, they gave me the file on the flight back… it's important Fi." She'd heard the spiel before… she didn't even know why she still listened. "Fi?" he asked in her sullen silence.

When she said nothing and turned to stare out of the window he put the car in gear and pulled away from the house he grew up in. "Thanks for tonight Fi. My mom really enjoyed it." he tried again, but still she didn't reply. "And… you know how Sam is, he-"

"Don't." Fiona cut him off, her words sharp enough to slice him clean through. He swallowed, embracing the following silence with relief.

Sam was currently on Madeline's sofa after passing out drunk. It made a cheerful difference to the other unconscious drunks that had inhabited that sofa in the past.

Jesse had tried to get Sam in the car but he was too heavy to budge, thus settling for taking himself home a few minutes before Mike and Fi did.

Nate had stuffed himself on food and crashed on his old bed.

"Fi?" Michael tried again. "Say something."

She'd even been nice to Sam… and he ruined her dress.

She _knew_ it would bite her in the ass.

And where would Michael be when she needed his comfort? Why, he'd be halfway around the world on a top secret mission, where the hell else would he be?!

He couldn't even make it for Christmas!

And whose idea was this whole late Christmas thing?

Fiona's. That's who.

She'd sat with Madeline and she'd told her how she'd wanted to do something special for him. She wanted to know what his previous Christmases' were like, she wanted to know what he liked and didn't. Hell, she wanted Michael so bad, she was digging in his mother's mind for something to hold onto. At the notion of Christmas, she'd told Madeline she was thinking of having a second Christmas with Michael after her own. And then came the Madeline Western approach to thing. Why do two, when one suffices and brings you closer together? Between them, they cooked up the idea and laid out the plans. Maddy cracked the whip on the boys and Fiona sailed behind smiling.

But now, she sat forcing a steady breath from her lips, trying to calm to icy rage.

She was torn between hating him and missing him, it was bittersweet agony.

"Fi." Michael began again. "Do you want me to take you home?"

This time, she turned back from her window, finding them paused at the crossroad lights. Left; his way. Right; hers.

Despite how mad she was, sleeping alone would only enrage her further. She knew that much.

"Left." she muttered emotionlessly and watched him visibly relax with the turn.

His bags and gear sat in the back seat, he'd insist upon cleaning his used guns before he went to bed as well. She knew he would.

There was a time she used to love that he cared for his guns so much. She'd lay across his lap, his naked table for the insides of his favourite Glock. She'd pass him the oil and rag in turn, mesmerised by the care he would give each part of the mechanism he could use so dangerously.

Now, she just found herself swarmed by a cold touch for her own happiness.

"I know I should have told you… but I didn't want to ruin the night." Michael stressed, his hand running through his hair. "I didn't wan-"

"I'm tired." Fiona spoke. "We'll do this tomorrow." she dismissed.

The very words froze Michael in his seat, the sound of the gas feeding the engine the only whisper in the silence.

Fiona never put off a fight. She would beat him for any fault even if it meant battling sleep all the way.

"Fi?"

"I said later." she snapped and immersed them in the quiet.

He drove on, the wheels of his mind exhausted from the mission, but aching to figure out the girlfriend he seemed to have lost step with.

Even the nightclub daren't make a sound, closed for the festive season, when he approached.

Fi didn't move as he stepped from the running car to open the gates. But as he parked the charger he had to stop her initial burst of movement as she made to leave.

"Fi." His hand rested on her bare thigh, the dress rolled up by her fiddling fingers to try hide the gravy stain. "Talk to me." he begged in a whisper. "Please."

"And say what?" Michael turned to the words, the breaking of the syllables in her throat the second sign of her mood, the first of her tears had been missed as she gazed out of the window on the drive.

"Just… say something." He reached his fingers to her hand but she was quick to move it back, to scrub at the tears running rivulets down her cheeks.

"Like what Michael?" she began, the tears choking her words. "Like I'm lonely?" she suggested, driving the knife further inside her heart. "Like I've been waiting night after night for you to come back to me, not knowing if you were alive or dead?" it stung, but her tears rubbed salt in the verbal wounds. "Like before you're even back you're signing your soul away again?" she huffed out a breath when the strength of her words drained on her. "Like you break every bone in your body to get back to me, like it's my fault?"

"I never sai-"

"Like every time my phone rings I'm terrified I'd going to be the call to tell me you're dead?" she continued anyway, her voice louder with anger. "Like I lie awake knowing the only future we can have is _this-_" she jabbed a finger between them both "My lonely worry and your unending battle." She took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Fi."

"Not tonight Michael." she managed to speak out softly and unclipped the seatbelt. She stood from the car, the keys fished from her handbag before she could even put her first step on the stairs.

Michael watched mindless as she pushed up stair after stair and let herself into his apartment. When she slipped inside from sight, he dropped his head to the wheel.

What could he say?

She was right.

Fiona stood in the small bathroom, the dress stripped off in the sink, one of Michael's shirts covering the red lingerie. She stared at her reflection in the tiny shaving mirror, her eyes were ringed red, one bloodshot from the tiredness and the crying. She wasn't surprised.

She was exhausted.

She stepped from the bathroom, Michael was still in the charger; she hadn't even heard him close the gate yet.

With a sigh, she took the gun oil and rag from the second draw of the dresser and left them on the kitchen table. Like a well-oiled machine with years practice, she took a blueberry yogurt from the fridge she'd stocked earlier than night and fished a spoon to sit atop it.

She left the items alone, pulling back the clean sheets and slipping into her side of the bed, the familiar old Glock under the pillow.

The bed still smelled like Michael.

But it was cold.

And like usual, she was alone with nothing but memories.

She closed her heavy eyelids and listened to the silence of outside.

She didn't know how long it took, but she finally heard the charger door slam shut, the rusted gate drag across to be locked and unevenly weighted feet on the steps.

She wasn't far from asleep, but she felt the need to pretend anyway as the apartment door opened.

It closed a lot gentler than it opened; she summed he had noted her sleeping form.

Motionless, she listened to him muffle a grunt of pain as he pulled the jacket from his shoulders. She counted the seven steps to the island, the pause, then the hushed pull of the stool as he sat.

Michael was as bad for routine as someone with OCD. Some said it helped with sleep, especially to those with troubled minds, others said it was a way to escape.

She didn't know what it did for Michael, she was too drawn to sleep, only focussing back into wakefulness when she felt the bed dip and Michael's weight settle on the mattress beside her.

Sleep was the theory, but in her vulnerable mind something else stirred.

_Blood._

_Fiona looked down at her bare hands, warm blood, fresh from someone or something was coating her pale skin._

_She flexed her fingers, testing the strange sight belonged to her. It did._

_Sensations of crackled dry paint curled over her skin as the blood dried too fast to be real. And then, like it was never there, it was gone. _

_She stroked finger over palm, feeling nothing but a cold hard hand, calloused from the lifestyle she chose._

_The hands then paired to flutter over her body, her lack of pain added to the lack of evidence that she was whole and unharmed._

"_No!" The panicked word lifted her head, her eyes snapping to the closed door of the room she sat in._

_She couldn't place a single item of furniture from the bedroom in her memory, but if felt safe, it felt familiar and it felt like a home._

"_Please, don't hurt her. She's innocent!" There came the voice again. _

_Fiona wrapped her fingers tentatively around the door handle turning just enough to look out the door._

_She continued her action, stepping out into an empty corridor._

_She refused to play victim, she wouldn't shout 'hello' and make herself a target. No, she would stay silent, find a weapon and protect the innocent, whoever it was._

_Fiona barely managed another step before crying filled the air._

_A child?_

_A baby?_

_Energy flooded her feet and she rushed down the hall to the open bedroom on the left where the sound called out from._

_The second she rushed in, the crying ceased._

_Blue._

_It was her first impression of the room._

_Blue walls, blue birds painted around the room._

_Blue crib sitting in the centre._

_Fiona could see through and through, there was nothing but a blue blanket covering the base. The rest of the room was blue, but empty._

"_Please, please. I'll do whatever you want." _

_There was the voice again, drawing her from the room and towards the stairs at the end of the hallway._

_But then came the crying again. It screeched through her heart and demanded she soothe the owner. It insisted she cradle the infant to her chest, to rock the baby, to take away its pain._

_The sound spiralled from the next room on the long cream hall._

_With a push of energy, Fiona broke into the room, hand up to fight, stance braced for impact. Neither came._

_Pink._

_Like before, the room was an echo of its blue sibling._

_Pink walls, pink flowers, pink mobile, pink blinds, pink crib, pink blanket. But an empty pink room._

"_Fi!" The voice called. _

_The dots had refused to connect before, but there was no doubt in her mind who it belonged to._

"_Michael." She found herself whispering, her feet silent against the plush carpet as she chased the ghost of her name down. "Michael!" _

_What she found lying on the stairs cracked her heart._

_Broken and beaten, Michael lay awkward on the spiralling stairs._

_Bones pushed out at wrong angles, blood seeped into the carpet and bullet spun deeper with every movement._

"_Fi. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." he panted, reaching out his shattered hand to touch her._

_She slid down beside him, hands over the wounds to try and stop the endless flow of crimson. "I'm so sorry." he groaned out to her, the light in his eyes paling, the fragments of life cracking further._

"_No, don't leave me." Her protests drove oceans from her eyes, slipping down her face. "Michael, no. Please. You can't do this."_

"_Fi… the baby." _

_The innocent he wanted to protect. Where was she?_

_Fiona's head clicked up to a shadow of a man bracing a gun in their direction._

"_Where is she?" Fiona demanding, not knowing more than that she needed to save her. Whoever the 'her' was._

"_Right in my sight." The shadow answered sickly, his very voice curling her skin from her frame. It put the fear of god in her, the hate bubbled beneath her skin and Michael turned cold faster than she could possibly believe. "It's a long list, and I'm first sweetheart." If a shadow could grin, it would have. Of that she was sure._

"_No. Not like this."_

_It was then Fiona felt the burning warmth on her hands, Michael's blood seeping into her skin like a parasite. It wriggled and burrowed into her hands pulling right up her arms, through her chest and down, down, down._

_Fiona gasped, the baby bump that had never been there was alive with action, the screams of infants hitting her ears. No, make it stop, make it stop._

_Her fingernails clawed at the swollen body, blood spilling from the tracks she made._

_She could get it out, she could save her child._

_A gunshot smashed through the air, her body knocked back onto the hard edge of the stairs._

_For a second, just a small second, everything fell silent._

_But then came the pain, the screams, the precious rubies coating her fingers from the hole in her chest._

"_Another one… for good luck." The shadow reasoned._

_BOOM._

_One last shot from the gun ended the world in a pit of black._

* * *

You guys have been so sweet and amazing with the reviews, give yourselves a hug from me. I know Burn Notice doesn't have the HUGE following it entirely deserve, and I don't expect a torrent of reviews, but the ones I do get are worth their weight in gold. So, if you feel it in you, i'd appreciate if you left me another love note at the end of this chapter :D

(In all honesty, I write my stories for myself... i'm just sweet enough to share, haha.)  
Xx


	5. Chapter 5

As promised, here ye shall find the last chapter of my little story for Michael and Fiona and by golly, it's been such a pleasure to write.

Reviewers, I could kiss you. I really could. You guys rock.

Hope you enjoy (if the ending doesn't put a smile on your face, we may have to diagnose you with a deathly illness called grumpitus)  
Xx

* * *

Chapter Five

Fiona opened her eyes to the darkness, fear slowly started receding its sharp talons from her mind.

Her sight scanned every section of the familiar apartment she could see before she dared to breath, dared to move even an inch.

Hesitantly, she turned over to her other side, her eyes drinking in the other half of the abode. She finally released a deep breath at the emptiness.

Just a dream.

Just a hell of a scary-ass dream.

And there was Michael, sleeping soundlessly next to her, not a terror to touch him. Aching and beaten, yes, but not a drop of his blood was on her hands.

She sighed her relief and sank back into the pillows.

She'd had more than her fair share of nightmares where Michael would cease to be.

He was her weak spot, and she knew it. It seemed her subconscious liked to torture her even when he was sleeping right next to her.

She closed her tired eyes, but the images returned as fresh as they had been only moment ago; blood quickly stained her memories, destroying any happiness she dared to conjure.

Instead, she settled for another sweep of the apartment in the early AM sunrise light. The soft rosy glow poured in from the windows, illuminating the kitchen with the pale touch.

Fiona smirked at the empty yogurt pot on the side table. Despite the fact he had eaten 90% of the yogurt tart Jesse made, Michael still had the stomach for another before bed.

She stopped herself from flying back to the tragedy that was the xmas dinner. That being said, it wasn't a terrible Christmas for everyone. The boys had been livelier than ever, they were clearly pleased to have Michael back.

Not to mention Madeline, Fiona had never seen her so happy. It really had been an infectious atmosphere.

Fiona had gone out on a limb and bought Maddy a new dressing gown from the high end retailers, she was half expecting one of those family '_thanks, but I'm never going to wear it'_ thanks. She knew how fussy Madeline was with her clothes. But the second her fingers had touched on the soft material, she had insisted upon wearing it then and there, snuggling into the warmth it offered and promising to throw out her old one the second she finished her cig.

Nate had been an easy buy, well 'buy' was a loose word. She'd simply written him a card telling him he had a job at a garage, starting in the new year. A friend had owed her a favour, and the friend had needed a new mechanic pronto. She knew how hard Nate had been looking for a stable job, and the pay on this was beyond decent due to the high volume of cars coming in. Nate would love it. And from his expression, it seemed that he did.

Jesse had been a little tougher, but he'd let slip on a previous mission that he missed one of his ex-girlfriends because of the Vietnamese family recipes she'd inherited and she could cook like a star.

Fi had made a few calls, greased a few palms and created a recipe book (of possibly stolen family recipes) for the foodie.

Sam… well, she'd bought him some of the finest whiskey known to man. Okay, so she'd stolen it, but that wasn't a big difference. And, the house was only going to be torched anyway, if anything she rescued the whiskey and gave it a good home. Yet right now, she wished she had cracked it over Sam's head… though, the hangover from last night may be enough of punishment.

But Michael, she'd browsed everywhere, but she still had no present for him. In truth, she thought she'd have more time.

What did you get the spy that had everything?

She turned her head to his sleeping form.

He looked so peaceful, so tranquil.

And yet… so injured.

It was just small, but even his cheek had been slashed apart by some asshole's blade, or fist.

"Michael." she whispered. She needed his comfort, his words to prove her nightmare was too far from reality to be given a care. He rolled over onto his back at her voice his features cringing with the movement and she instantly found out why.

The injured shoulder. The one that 'wasn't that bad' was breaking her heart. "Michael." she gasped.

His bare chest was a watercolour of bruises casting a gloom on the masterpiece from pectoral to clavicle. A crevice of clotted blood angrily roared up at her, the haphazard stitches barely held the worst of the injury back. It looked like someone had taken a chunk from him. "Michael." she cried through the start of tears, her hand to his chest.

His eyes flew open, his fingers flying to hers in alarm, the trained operative awake before the boyfriend. She didn't even react to the shock, she'd seen more than her fair share of panicked awakenings and experienced a few of her own. Sometimes the brain doesn't distinguish friend from foe quick enough once first awakened.

"Fi, what's wrong?" he asked groggily, then winced as he tried to sit up.

"You're… you did this yourself didn't you." She could feel the sting of tears, but not again. Not again tonight.

This time, she let her fingers travel feather light around his wounds, wishing she could take away the pain he had to be concealing. "Who did this?" The murderous glint in her wet eyes was as sweet as lovers could get.

"He's dead, Fi." Michael swore. "I promise."

"I can't believe you're even still breathing." she whispered, the damage to his chest looked horrible. She'd seen heathier people on life support from these injuries. "Why didn't you say anything?" she scolded, her fingers unable to break the connection with his warm skin.

"I didn't exactly get a say in where Nate drove." He grinned at her, his free hand scrubbing his face to wakefulness, a yawn ripping through him as he did. "Besides, I didn't want to worry my mother."

"Your legs?"

Her hand stopped at the band of his boxers, the duvet concealing its position from sight.

"Jumped from a third story window." Not to mention he'd been slammed into a few crates whilst fighting the assrat.

"Are you insane?" she hissed.

"It was that or death, Fi." His fingers caressed the worry lines on her face.

"You said you were okay." she murmured, feeling betrayed by his lies. "This is not okay."

"Fi." He caught her fingers, weaving them with his. He lifted them to his lips, laying a chaste kiss to them. "I'm fine. Go back to sleep." He pulled her in, urging her to curl to his form as she usually did. She would snuggle against his warmth, held tight by his strong arms and she'd feel like nothing could hurt her. But now, she was filled with fear, sadness and a piercing sense of loneliness.

"Michael. Please." she whispered, her soft hands gently pressed to either side of his face. He didn't know what she was asking for until her lips pressed to his.

The first few seconds, he felt her need for comfort, but then it changed, her lips grew more urgent, more persuasive.

"Fi." He turned his head away. "I don't think I can keep up right now." he chuckled, the vibration against his ribs stirring pain in its purest form.

"I'll be gentle. I promise."

With no time to argue, one hand threw back the duvet, the other pushed the bedding so she could sling her leg over him and straddle his hips.

Her lips crushed back to his, her need for comfort evolving into a primal element.

The touch, the kiss, the love.

She needed to feel their connection again.

"Fi. I-"

"Just lie there. I'll take care of you."

Her lips took the safe route down the side of his body coloured with the closest shade of skin colour.

Her hips rocked against the beginnings of arousal.

"Fi." He ground out her name, the way one would before starting to invent threats. She knew why.

Michael liked to be in charge, and thus, on top.

Michael's wounds would prevent him from having any portion of control.

"Please." But his hands gripped her hips tightly, the gritted teeth showing the pain of the motion and having more of an effect than his hands on stilling her. "Michael." Sadness squeezed on her vocal chords.

"Sleep Fi." He ran his hands soothingly up and down her thighs in an attempt to lull her. However, the words seemed to distress her further.

"I can't." she whispered and closed her eyes, her head titled back to the ceiling as she so often did when she didn't want anyone to see any weakness. "I… I dreamt you'd been killed."

"Fi, I'm right here. I'm alive." His warm hands reached up to draw her closer. She went easily, hugged against his chest like it was her only life saver.

"You died in my arms." she continued, her face turned away onto his pillow. "I had your blood on my hands…" _And I was pregnant with our child, which also died. _The full truth of the story was cut short. The basis was more than enough. The dreams of blood, pain and bullets came all too often for their life.

Michael had enough demons to know the remnants of a nightmare could deter you from sleep for hours. He also had enough experience to know how Fiona liked to deal with those types of demons. They were probably the only times Fiona ever asked for his touch soft and slow.

Her usual aphrodisiac was a cocktail of adrenaline, blood and sweat with just a dash of pain, it would brew fast and she'd pounce with all her lust onto him, she'd take what she wanted, she'd fight his need for control all the way and relax only after a second or third go around.

Michael's hand carefully moved her hair from her neck, his lips taking place, giving her the sweet kisses she needed. His other hand trailed down the back of one of his shirts and ducked under the material, fingers splayed flat on the curve of her back.

With a tug down, he rocked an unconsciously created erection against her core.

She rose her head enough to exchange his kisses to her lips instead of neck.

He could taste her tears, feel her damp cheeks as he brushed back her hair again.

"You died." she whispered against his lips, her hips now meeting his for a controlled grind.

"You think that low of me?" he teased between kisses. If she didn't stop crying, he didn't think he'd be able to take another mission ever again.

"I was there. I could feel you blood on my hands. I could see it." she protested against the insinuation.

"And now?" he questioned, his hands grabbing both of hers, biting through the sudden jerk of his shoulder, and placing them flat on him. "What can you feel? What can you see?" he challenged.

The flood of reality sliced clean through the haze of the dream.

He felt the very moment the nightmares grip shattered, he felt it because her hips pushed hard against his, her lips smashed back against his and her tongue easily plundered his willing mouth.

Fingers wrapped around her hips, urging her rhythm to a calmer, more indulgent beat. She didn't even think anything of it to consider refuting, she just accepted the guidance and moved against him.

Her fingers longed to be curling against his back, or, in this position, to be firm against his chest, using it to help her give him the ride of his life.

But now, her digits were biting into her palm, little fists against the pillows knowing there was no space for her on his bruised chest. Hell, she couldn't even rise up and grab his legs for leverage either, she had no idea how badly bruised they were, and considering what he told her, she would bet they were going to be staying away from marathons for a while.

"Fi, pants." He nodded at her as she rose up. Her excitement was leaking through the flimsy underwear and he could feel it on his erection.

She bit her lips, the saucy little bite that had him think twice about praying; she could very well kill him in his current state.

But she took her time, her lips dropping kisses as she shuffled down his body, she moved with his marks, staying away from the seething purple and red bruises and paying extra attention to those rare patches of creamy white.

When she reached the waistband of his boxers, her fingers hooked into the material, easing them over his hips, freeing his hard member and following them through all the way to take off his toes.

As she crawled back up, her fingers first went to his length, wrapping her small digits around and sliding up and down. Pointed at her lips, her mouth took charge, her fingers taking on the task of removing her own underwear. The bottoms shuffled off of her in no more than a few seconds and then she was kneeling over his calves, her tongue tracing secret patterns along the underside of his erection, her mouth sucking him into bliss.

"Fi." Usually, this would be the point he'd be sinking his fingers into her heat, driving her wild as she gave him the same effect.

"I'll take care of it." she breathed, popping him from her mouth, her fingers taking over her torturous motions. Her free hand disappeared from his half cast view, under the ends of his shirt and he could only watch her wrist move the tendons in her arm, his attention waiting for the second her eyes would flutter closed, a finger sunk inside her.

Then there it was, the flash of her eyelids, the gyration of her hips against the small digit… the breath of a moan slipping her open lips.

His cock twitched in her grip and she smiled up at him.

Michael's fingers stretched out, he would have sit up and dragged her back to him if his ribs were in any state to welcome it.

"Fi." Where actions couldn't happen, he hoped she would have the sense to listen to the warning of his words.

"Yeah?" she whispered back to him, then came the slight roll back of her eyes, the broken gasp of another moan. Another finger.

Michael felt his jaw tighten again.

"Fiona."

A bubble of laughter escaped her, but his look cut it off. It was pained, he was already straining his shoulder and ribs reaching for her. It sobered her mood and she rocked back up his body to him, chest to chest as delicately as possible.

Her attention turned to the side of the bed, her arm dropping to fish for the condoms, her balance requiring her ass to stick up in the air.

Rough male digits were quick to grasp to perfect globes, squeezing the flesh that drove him wild in those skinny jeans and skimpy skirts.

Fiona bit her lips, her own task suddenly taking over with urgency. Her hand patted along the floor, she knew there was a box somewhere around here.

"Oh god." Her search froze, her moan captured in the mattress as two long fingers dove into her wet heat.

"You're perfection." Michael whispered to her, his motions deep and distractingly pleasurable. But sharp staggered breaths came with each stretch of his arm and Fiona found herself whipping back to him, the noise different to what his arousal usually caused.

"Jesus Michael." She pushed his forearm down which left her core reluctantly empty. "You'll tear yourself apart if you continue like this."

"I know my limits."

"No. You don't." she cut him off, the anger polluting her mind.

"I ca-"

"I told you. Just lie back and enjoy. Please."

"Fi, you know I'd rather be-"

"No." she bit out. "And where are the god damn condoms?" she huffed, scanning the floor and coming up empty.

"Try under the bed." he answered softly, his hands settling on her naked hips, urging her to continue her ministrations against him.

If her anger took control, it would demand she walk out and leave him as he was. Last thing he needed was another tip to her anger. The safest approach; distraction. "I thought about you every night Fi."

He felt her stiffen for half a second before reaching under the bed and coming up victorious. "You were all I could see." he continued, his fingers in her hair as she bit her lip, tearing the foil packet neatly.

"I couldn't sleep unless it was in one of your shirts." she admitted quietly. "I used to pretend you were just in the shower, or watching tv… that you weren't far away." She lifted her hips, taking his hard stiffness in hand and sheathing it expertly without even a drop of her eyes.

As it so often did, the thought of children flashed in her mind. One thin scrap of latex was all that kept her from that future. And as usual, she didn't know if she was grateful or hateful of it.

"I didn't want to be." he spoke true, his gaze on her ruby lips.

Her lips collapsed under the pressure of his silent prayer, pressing firmly against his, her tongue pouring lust into his mouth, as demanding as she always was.

Her fingers ran his length along her slit, spreading her juices until finally, she slid down just that little, the tip sucked into her heat.

The pair moaned, tongues greedy for more of the other.

Slowly, oh so achingly slowly, she sank down on him until he was as deep inside her as she had dreamed about for weeks.

But the dance didn't scream for speed, it wasn't a race to finish. It wasn't anything close to the story of the lost plumber and the sorority girl fuck that men may dream of. This was the relationship fuck, the 'I miss you', the 'I'm sorry', the 'Finally, we can be together'.

Michael guided her motions as much as she would allow, he bit down on the pain from his injuries, but he would have it no other way. To finally have Fiona back in his arms, he'd endure a lot more. To finally taste her lips after weeks of fantasising and reliving old memories, he would happily take bullets for it.

To have her there, in his hands… she was beautiful.

She rolled her hips like a pro, the quick breaths of her chest pushing against his, the sweet long moans that spiralled around in his head, the flicks of her tongue over his. It was a nirvana for him.

It was a flood to the senses after so long away.

"Michael." Fiona moaned softly, breaking from the bruising kisses at the feel of his fingertips digging into her hips, his motions speeding up. One look told her all she needed.

She sat up on him, the depth and angle driving her mad with want. Her fingers wrapped tight around his less injured arm and she claimed his hand, placing his thumb against her clit, the ends of the shirt rubbing on her thighs with every thrust.

With his thumb working her love button, his thrusts hitting deep inside her, she unravelled seconds before he did. Their pleasure filled the room with the sweat and a sexual heatwave.

With hands either side of his shoulders, she carefully lowered herself back to his chest, a kiss on his lips before withdrawing completely, shuffling away from his injuries and back to her side of the bed. He took a few seconds to dispose of the condom, then he was back, lying face to face with her. Her fingers reached out immediately, connecting them though the distance as she locked their hands together. Finally together, finally happy, they let the waves of sleep cascade over them.

* * *

Fiona woke groggily to a hand on her shoulder.

"You're awake." she mumbled sleepily, and pried her eyes open a little more. "and dressed." she complained, her hands snatching his and curling around it. It was her undeniably adorable attempt to keep him from leaving.

"I have to go to the debriefing… and sort out my next mission." he said honestly, worried about the backlash of the full truth.

Sure enough, she frowned and pulled her body in tighter around his arm, intending on keeping it hostage until he saw sense. Thankfully, the chosen arm was not the one that sported the deepest coloured bruises, he doubted his other could survive Fi's death grip.

"You've only just got back. It's not fair."

"I know." he sighed. "I didn't want you to wake up and find me gone though." he spoke, his free hand pushing back the wild hair that was all over her face and pillow. "I'll come back with coffee." he teased, pulling gently on his entrapped appendage. It didn't move far. "Fi."

"No." she pouted. "They said a week and it wasn't. They said you'd be back in one piece… you're barely held together." she protested and he saw the raw sadness in her eyes.

"I have to go." he stated, knowing full well it wouldn't go down well.

"Something else you can excel in." she muttered bitterly, fully intending the lash of her words. She released the arm and turned over to the other side of the bed, effectively cutting him out.

"Fi…" But he was already running against the clock and there was no easy end to this argument. "I'm sorry." And he slipped out the door.

Fiona laid silent, listening to her breath slip in and out of her body. Sadness engulfed her, the feeling on loneliness creeping back into the shadows of her heart.

She tried to sleep, but there was no will anymore.

When Michael returned, Fiona was deep in the fridge, throwing bad food and sorting good. She'd brought him food up, but been too busy to bother throwing away the old.

"There better be food with you." she said as she heard the door open and close with his greeting.

"Coffee and yogurt." he answered shortly, setting two bags on the kitchen island. "I got something else as well." Fiona lifted her head to him, only to find a nervous smile and his back as he vanished out the door once more.

He returned back with a large open box to find Fi on the bed, tight jeans framing her long legs, fashionable elaborate top over her chest.

"What's in the bo-" her question was cut short by a tiny yap from inside the cardboard. She tilted her head, questioning the discovery and the smirk Michael wore.

"I know it's not what you want… and he's not probably even considered on your Christmas list, but I was thinking about what you said last night and I…" Michael voice faded out from Fiona's head as a new sight took over.

There, on the floor, sat inside a box, she saw two long pointed ears turned her way. Then came the little head and two tiny paws as the dog pulled itself up the side of the box.

The puppy was golden and black, a clear German Shepard breed. Its fur looked too soft to be possible, it's frame too small to be anything but cute. It opened its mouth and out lolled a pink tongue in a happy grin. Big eyes looked directly at Fiona, a nose twitching as it discovered her scent. "He'd make good company and he's a gun dog. So gunfire wouldn't scare him, and he could track… or protect, if you wanted to train him as such…" Michael continued to defend the pup, a rare trait of nervousness making an appearance. Fiona lifted her eyes from the bundle of fur to the man that had been bearing it. "I know it's not a baby… but, I mean with the CIA, and the jobs, and… I don't want you to be alone, but I can't give up what good I'm doing here." There was a pause that seemed to crumble all of Michael's strength. "Please tell me what you're thinking." he finally pleaded. Spies worked with intelligence, they rarely went in blind…but with Fi, he always felt like he was alone without a scrap of a clue of the situation. Being in love with her made the consequences of a bad decision even worse and it put him entirely on edge as he waited for a verdict.

Fiona turned back to the pup. He was tracking her with his eyes, his nose itching for a better smell. She reached her hands into the box, the pup taking the opportunity to bump nose to palm and investigate. "They're good with kids as well." Michael slipped the words in, finding Fiona's electric eyes on him for a second of shock before turning back to the dog.

She rubbed her hand along its fur, her fingers scratching at his head, stroking its long pointed ears.

Michael finally took his eyes off Fiona's reactions at the sound of a thick tail whacking against cardboard. At least the dog liked her… but did Fi reciprocate? "What do you think of him?"

"What's his name?" she finally asked.

"He doesn't have one yet."

"Where did you find him?"

"Pet store in South Beach, the owner said he was the last of his brothers to be chosen." Michael never could pass up someone dealt a bad hand by fate, this pup was no different. "Apparently he had a temperamental personality."

"And you thought of me?" she teased, lifting the puppy to her knee, letting it explore the layers of her top.

"I can take him back if yo-"

"Don't you dare." she cut him off quickly, the puppy's ear spiked up and his teeth turned to Michael as Fiona's voice had grown louder. "See, he's perfect." She smiled, petting the animal and letting it resume its adventure. "I can call him little Mike." she taunted, her wicked smile flashing to Michael.

"Or give him a proper name?"

"You're right. He should be named after a great Michael, someone who can actually fight for me." she chuckled, filled with tease. The puppy yapped at the happy sound.

"Hilarious, Fi." Michael deadpanned.

"What do you think Tyson?" she addressed to the dog, its tail wagging with the attention.

"Tyson? Mike Tyson?"

"At least he'll fight." she laughed carefree. "Com'on Tyson, we have some doggy shopping to do." She stood, the dog cuddled to her chest. "And, oh, would you look at that." She picked up Michael's wallet from where he'd placed it on the desk. "Looks like poppa Michael's paying for all the expensive stuff."

"Fi!" Michael called as she turned out the door with the pup, his idea of yogurt instantly forgotten. He chased to the door after her. She had paused on the steps, turning back to her man with a huge smile on her face, it touched her eyes in ways he had never seen before. He paused. "Happy Christmas."

"The best yet."

* * *

So, what's the verdict? Do I sense a smile on those beautiful faces?

A billion thanks for reading. I really hope you liked my little festive treat for you. Trust me, you guys deserve it :D  
Xx


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